


When Aurora Has Him Abandoned

by threnodyjones



Category: Andromeda
Genre: Character Death, Gen, M/M, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2012-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 20:09:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threnodyjones/pseuds/threnodyjones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lukoprine variant is fast losing effectiveness. Harper's POV. Death story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Aurora Has Him Abandoned

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack: Terminator Theme; Full Circle, Loreena McKennitt; Wherever You Will Go, The Calling; My Lover's Gone, Dido.
> 
> Author's note: This is a death story. I was originally not going to finish it, because I came to revel in the aliveness of Harper in the episodes following "Exit Strategies". I didn't have the feeling in me that I needed to complete the story, so I was just going to leave it be until a time the feeling might once again appear. And then one week ago, almost to the hour as I write this, one of our cats developed blood clots in his lower body and lungs. At this time a week ago we were rushing into the emergency vets and being told that his chances of survival were 3% to none at all. Needless to say, the need to purge developed. Gulliver was only 11 years old, a harshly young age in our cats at which to die. So I finished the story. It wasn't as cathartic as it could have been since the majority of the story had already been written, but, in the end, a story is a story and all stories should be told.
> 
> \-- TJ  
> November 3, 2001  
> 9:15 p.m.
> 
> Original Author's Note (because I still think it is funny and harkens back the the days of yore when a death story was about the worst thing you could not warn for):
> 
> Pairing: Well, it kind of depends what colored glasses you're wearing. Me? I always preferred the slash-tinted ones.  
> Rating: G-PG. Depends how you react to death stories.  
> Status: Complete. Death story.  
> Feedback: Good, bad and ugly: go for it (please). (I know it's a death story.)  
> Disclaimers: Owned by those who are not me, including Tribune Entertainment, something with Fireworks and paw prints of the Roddenberry estate abound. Death story.  
> Notes: The distinct lack of quotation marks is intentional, yes.  
> Summary: The lukoprine variant is fast losing effectiveness. Harper's POV. Death story.  
> Warning: Death story.

It started out with a frown from Rommie's holographic projection while he was perched on one of the beds. Then it was another blood sample. And then another. And then a few days later it was, "Harper, could you come back to med-deck in eight hours?" And then it was Dylan being summoned for an intimate tête-à-tête heart-to-heart with Rommie and Trance while Harper had lain back with Rommie's whirring machines scanning him.

And maybe Rommie thought he wouldn't notice how his dosages had miraculously increased in size. Like he hadn't been doing this day in and day out for how long now? Like the whole sterile procedure hadn't been burned into his mind from the first injection he'd been conscious for?

Funny thing was, nobody actually _told_ him. Nobody spoke it out loud. Dylan seemed to be the only one who'd admit anything; he'd caught Harper's eye during the briefing and it had been just the smallest nod of his head. Because that was the kind of guy Dylan was. When it came right down to it he'd tell you the bare naked truth if you asked and then he'd hope to hell you'd take it like a man. And crap, if you didn't, he'd still be there for you.

It was the twinge in his gut that really brought it home for him. It was small. Slight. Barely not there. Infinitesimal as in he could have been imagining it. If it hadn't been for everything else. If it hadn't been for Dylan's nod. If it hadn't been for Trance just _crumpling_ in on herself before running out of med-deck the day after Dylan's nod. If it hadn't been for the fact that Rommie never gave him shit anymore no matter what he said to get her goat, like an AI had a goat to get.

Even though Rommie did. That's why he absolutely worshiped her ground he walked on.

 

He'd gone straight to Dylan's office, because in fact Dylan _did_ have an office, just no one ever went in there but Rommie because it was some sort of private, sacred chamber, the most holy of holy High Guard leftovers.

I feel them moving, he said after he'd taken possession of a chair. It was the end of the road. That twinge had been one of the little fuckers beginning to gnaw on him again. It could have been stress tying his gut up in knots right at this moment, but he really doubted it. He saw Dylan school his face, but he was too shocked to put the flexi down for several moments.

Any last ditch efforts for me? Surgery, nanobots, cryo, exorcism?

We could try surgery, Dylan told him. Rommie's been trying to synthesize antidotes to the toxins the Magog release, but, um...

But, um. Didn't that just say it all?

But, um, there's been no success.  
But, um, Trance and Rommie have run out of time.  
But, um, the Magog are just too damned well engineered for that.  
But, um, you've lived hard and now you're going to die young.  
But, um, you're not going to be around to ever see a Commonwealth happen.  
But, um, you're not going to be around anymore to watch any of your friends' backs.  
But, um, you're going to die and there's nothing that any of us can do and we're so, so sorry.

Dylan looked like he wanted to cry.

Beka and Tyr don't find out, he said finally. He'd known from the first that Beka wouldn't be able to handle being at his death bed, ever since he woke up screaming from a nightmare-come-daymare and eventually realized Beka had been no where to be seen. One of the reasons sudden suicide had looked so attractive. Beka doesn't handle public grief very well. Death by degrees she handles even worse.

And Tyr, well, Tyr would handle it all about as well as Beka because watching, knowing Harper was finally dying would just be a huge reminder of a big broken promise. Tyr had obviously decided he wanted Harper to live, for some reason. There had been no other reason for Tyr to have been in med-deck waiting for Harper to scream his way to consciousness, no other reason for Tyr to bitch at him for complaining about still being alive. Tyr had made a fucking effort to be optimistic. If _that_ wasn't a portent of his doom...

He and Dylan stared at each other for a long time. I'll let Trance and Andromeda know, Dylan finally told him. That was good enough for him. He got up and left.

 

He really wanted some tequila.

He'd once scored some and then made the mistake of drinking nearly half the bottle at one time. You just didn't realize until it was too late that the damned stuff had already snuck up on you and clobbered you over the head when you weren't looking. Bam! Instant knock on the ass followed by a _lasting_ and _memorable_ headache. He'd had worse stuff after he'd left Earth, but nothing had quite the oomph of that deceptive, piss-colored liquid. Nothing was as sneaky.

His beers were now things of the past, empties littered around him, and he really didn't want to weep into a Sparky. Totally undignified. Weeping into a bottle of tequila or whiskey was much better. At least then he could blame the hard stuff instead of the overwhelming knowledge that his life was toast. Nobody wanted him to be sad, so here he was. The close quarters of the access tubes didn't have the comfort they normally did. This time they were just metal and cold, nothing remotely living about them, nothing to soak up tears.

Trance's reaction had been out of the blue. Of course, he'd never really known if Trance _felt_ that deeply about any of them, she was normally so aloof and calm and willing to kick your ass eight ways from yesterday if you didn't do things her way. He wondered idly if anyone else was able to inspire these violent reactions from her or if he was more special than he thought. He'd vote for more special any day.

When Rommie's hologram appeared in the middle of one of his jags he snapped at her for privacy. She faded out, protesting, even as the ship vocally acknowledged his request. What must it be like to have three separate personalities?

Not that he'd ever have a chance to find out.

 

Later, Dylan found him on the Obs Deck. They sat together for over an hour.

I don't want to die here, he said.

Dylan gave him a respectful silence, the kind appropriate to moments like these, but when he spoke he said, Where should we go?

This time Harper stayed quiet, not because he didn't know, because he did, but he didn't want to think. About anything. He kept his mind wiped clean, kept it pure while he watched the stars.

 

The black carpet in front of him was similar to the stars he used to stare at back in Massachusetts. Back then he just used to pray for a way to escape Earth, when he had time between all the scamming and keeping track of all the scamming, and watching out for Nietzschean patrols and the rival protection gang trying to take over his neck of woods.

In the summer he'd scale one of the burnt out husks dotting the city that called itself a building, climb it all the way to the roof - the more rickety the better because who the hell was nuts enough to do something like that? - and call it a safe place to sleep the night away. But he couldn't fall asleep without listening to see if somebody's seen him, first. He'd done that one time and been caught by a Nietzschean who'd found it pretty fun to kick the crap out of the scrawny kludge for a few days.

So he'd had plenty of quality time with the stars and planets and comets. Dreaming, wishing upon each one just like his mother had taught him before she'd died. He'd become really familiar with what space looked like and embraced it wholly when Beka'd gotten him the hell off Earth. And suddenly there were always new things to look at in the night sky because it was always night and that was just so cool because while endless night in Massachusetts would have been endlessly _boring_ , whenever he emerged from the Maru's engine room there was always something new to see. Different star patterns, different formations, different planets, different drifts. He'd found it fantastically cool to call the entire universe his playground.

 

Infinity Atoll.

Dylan nodded, looking through the Observation Deck's massive window.

Space was either really comforting or really overwhelming, and right now it was really overwhelming. He wanted to feel anchored, enveloped, wrapped up in something real, not artificial.

I want sun on my face, he said. He knew Dylan would get it for him.

Dylan-- he broke off. Should he really ask? Did he really want to ask? I don't-- Could--

I'll be there, Dylan said. Then it was back to watching the stars.

 

He packed up his rooms, meticulously sorting and labeling the piles. This You Can Sell. Crap. Junk. Useful Junk. Auction. He took the useful pile to his workshop and tried to put stuff away there. Packing up his own stuff, sheesh it was like attending your own funeral only way more morbidly worse.

 

Trance showed up and helped him for a while before disappearing again. He tracked her down in hydroponics, like knowing she was in hydroponics would narrow her location. Rommie's gardens sometimes seemed to take up half the ship, not even mentioning all the rooms Trance had taken over in pursuit of the perfect plant haven.

He found her in the middle of one of the _long_ rows in the main garden, sitting on the curb and planting an ivy.

Hey, he said. You good?

I'll... I'll be good. She turned to face him. Her eyes were sad. Harper, I'm so...

It's okay, Trance. I know. He reached over and scooped out another hole for another plant. Trance picked a larger one this time and they packed the dirt down together.

Listen, he said. He pulled out a dat-crystal. This is the name of someone who might be able to help you guys out. When you think the time's right, give it to Dylan. And if you talk to the guy, tell him Harper says Dylan's a good guy.

Trance took the crystal. Okay. She didn't look happy. He took the chance, leaned over and kissed her lips.

Still friends? he asked.

Best friends, she replied, and smiled faintly.

Beka appeared suddenly and came out talking. Hey, have you guys heard Dylan's scheduled shore leave? And you'll never guess where.

I am already well in the know, my benevolent leader. I know everything, for _I_ am The Harper. Infinity Atoll, land of surfing, waves and beautiful bodies of the female per _sua_ sion.

How did you find out? Dylan just told _me_. Beka's hands rested on her hips as she spoke.

Hey, the Rom-doll extra-ordinare mentioned it and I said if anybody was taking requests, I knew the perfect place. Next thing I know, here I am seeing if Trance wants to learn how to surf the ocean blue. So how about it, Your Purpleness? Wanna come play in my ocean?

Dream on, Harper. Trance is coming shopping with me, just like always.

Okay, okay. I forgive you, Trance. But you're gonna have to make it up to me, you know.

I promise, Harper, she said.

He turned to Beka. How long till Infinity?

A couple of hours.

He sprang up. Just enough time to wax my board. Bye, Trance. Later, Beka.

Goodbye, Harper, Trance called after him quietly. Beka ignored him.

 

Rommie's drone handed him a vial while her hologram looked on. Here's what you asked for, Harper.

This won't leave an aftertaste, will it? he asked. It was innocuous, clear, and a pretty small amount. Rommie looked up as she researched the answer.

It shouldn't, she told him. He nodded.

Last thing I want is an aftertaste. Yuck. He sighed, tired suddenly. Rommie, it has been the coolest thing ever getting to know you. Inside and out, he finished with a quirked leer.

Rommie gave him a look before smiling. It's been a pleasure getting to know you too, Harper.

Take care of them, will ya? She nodded and then he left. Infinity Atoll and endless beaches were waiting.

 

He and Dylan were the last to go down. Harper'd made noises about forgetting something. Nobody asked anything about Dylan's whereabouts. They rarely did.

As Dylan piloted down to Infinity Harper tried to apologize for forcing Dylan to deal with Beka on his own. Beka had a vicious streak he'd grown to honestly admire even at those times it had been focused on him, but it wasn't something he could deal with right now. He didn't need it, and since when couldn't he take the coward's way out? Dylan cut him off before he got too far into it. Didn't seem to hold it against him. Might even have encouraged it.

Okay, so Dylan had full tilt experience with Beka's shiny temper.

Trance was distracting Beka, Rommie was minding the fort, Rev was off doing religious things, Tyr was doing mercenary things that were going to endanger everybody later on and Dylan was distracting him. Correction, the big blue in front of him was distracting him.

Not a bad deal, all in all.

 

The sun was starting to get low.

They'd spent most of the day lazing on the beach, drinking big tropical fruit drinks. Harper had taken to the waves for a short time Then he returned to his blanket to lay back and soak in more of the sun. The hot white sands had let Dylan relax enough to doze. Harper watched the beach. People came and went. Some had come back after mid-day, ready to take on the killer waves again.

They'd really been amazing today.

Dylan got up again to get something to drink from the kiosk down the beach; Harper took his opportunity. He opened the vial and dumped the contents into the remainder of his beer. Took a careful taste and then chugged it.

He was lying back, watching the sun, when Dylan returned. Got a beer handed to him, open and everything. He took a sip and Dylan lay back down. He was starting to get sleepy again, and the bottom of the sun was touching the horizon now. The sky was beginning to bloom with color.

He started when Dylan's hand touched his; fingers laced with Harper's and squeezed. He looked at Dylan and shit, he knew. Dylan knew, of course Dylan knew. But Hell, he hadn't asked Rommie to be specific. He didn't know what the stuff was or how it worked or what it did or how long it would take. Probably not too long. But Dylan was here and with him and wasn't leaving him alone.

He squeezed back. Thank you. I'm sorry. Take care of everybody. I'll miss you. This was good. And then he turned back to the horizon. The sun was setting.

 

The End.


End file.
